


The Rose and the Red Death

by endlesseternities



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bal Masque de Paris, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Champagne, Classical Music, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Don Juan - Freeform, F/M, Fear of Discovery, Feelings, Gowns, Historical Accuracy, Historical Dress, Historical Inaccuracy, Hussar Costuming, Hysteria, Masks, Operas, POV Female Character, Panic, Poetry, Psychological Horror, Tears, Threats, Understanding, Unrequited Love, screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12615516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesseternities/pseuds/endlesseternities
Summary: The night of the bal masqué comes and the soprano reflects on her life as it is, especially when she and the others come to gaze upon the horrid and hideous Red Death as he arrives. The clock begins to toll and as the Angel of Music comes for all those present, her world begins to shatter.Book based and inspired.





	The Rose and the Red Death

**Author's Note:**

> I based Christine off of myself this time, as I thought it'd be nice to have a personal connection to a character; I also thought it'd be better to use my interpretations to understand her better in the reactions she gives. I do not own these characters whatsoever.
> 
> "And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all." -Edgar Allan Poe, "The Masque of the Red Death"

The waves that flowed over my pale shoulders hardly gave me comfort. I had expected them to hide me, to shield me from sight, and with the frail Venetian-styled mask that I wore, I felt no release from the anxiousness arising from within. Tonight was the bal masqué de Paris, and somehow, I felt as if I were drowning. I felt like I was being pulled to the sea and no one was there to save me. The impending feeling was too much to bear. My mask of porcelain was covered with golden swirls, rhinestones and a cream-colour to coat its shapely foundation. I had begged Raoul not to come, as I myself wished no part in the ordeal.

But, Raoul had insisted that he would be there to protect me; he also mentioned that guards were stationed at every exit and entrance of the Palais Garnier. It hardly comforted me but at his behest, I had no choice but to attend. He had said that it would build my character and fortitude of bravery, but deep down, I had silent reservations. This was hardly the time or the place to meddle in the open, and the scent of champagne, wine and the cigar smoke was harming me, giving me headaches in their majority.

Each person who attended wore the latest fashion of these eighteen-nineties, but I had found something in the dressing room within an old mahogany wardrobe. I wore a dress from what I believed to be 1883, something golden and cream-coloured. It had a favorable design to it, and it beheld a pick-up skirt that was neither too heavy or too light. Golden tinsel reigned upon it as well as trim, and the bodice had gilt fringing. The train of the dress was black velvet and highly fashioned with remarkable craftsmanship.

As the new opera managers came along with frivolous women, flocking into the open spaces, my eyes seemed heavy and my skin tremulous. Pair upon pair, men and women came into the Palais Garnier, watching, waiting, hoping for a frightful and enthralling experience. All night long, I knew that whispers of the Opéra Ghost were to come without pause. My hands clutched together in utter fright. I was not ready. I was not prepared to face such an audience who would bombard me, question me as if I’d committed some crime by speaking to the Angel.

Sometimes, I hadn’t even the chance for privacy when the Angel came. He would always come whenever I’d be alone. Meg and the other girls would either be at practice or asleep; almost always, I was alone. He had often schooled me through my mirror. The large mirror always seemed a practical way for him to find me. But as I stood beside the Grand Staircase, I hadn’t the slightest idea of how Raoul and Philippe had found me so quickly.

Philippe had found me first and touched my arm. “Christine? Are you alright?”

I gasped only a little and kept my shoulders downward. I peered through the eyes of my mask and saw how they both wore almost similar Hussar outfits. Raoul’s was a lighter shade of black, and its pelisse faint, soft, along with beautifully-made Austrian knots made of gold. Philippe’s outfit consisted of the same design, though his was completely black and this time, he wore medals. I watched Raoul’s eyes meet mine, and when he saw the distress in mine, he instinctively clasped onto my hands and held me.

“Christine, what is wrong?”

 _Everything and nothing_ , I wanted to say. _I’m pulled to the tide, Raoul, and this maelstrom is only growing. The train and weight of my gown is filled with water and the salt of the sea, my beautiful sea, is drowning me. If he finds me, this won’t be the end. Not even you or my red scarf can hide me from him._

A thousand things were racing through my mind and how could I possibly explain it?

-

When finally the dancing began, Raoul came over to me again after meeting with other prominent families. He grasped my waist and took my hand, whereas I took him in the same manner. It was a waltz that began to play, one that slowly built. The orchestra was playing it fervently with passion and as they awaited the cues of their maestro, we all danced and turned around in spins.

Old men courted their wives and the young thrived, drunk, on the golden liquid. The music kept building and as we danced long and with cautious ardor, I watched all the masks around me become one. Their swirls, their feathers, their designs all muddled into one inauspicious array of colors. Raoul held me close by and when I looked through my mask again, I felt the ribbons holding it upon my face become loose. I was feeling the sensation of panic coming over me and already, I felt eyes upon me.

“Raoul,” I said, my soft voice crackling, “I fear my mask is going to fall off.”

He steadied me and again, we swirled as the music’s rhythm changed. “Stay close to me, Christine. Even if it does fall off and break, I have a spare waiting with a servant. Don’t be frightened.”

It was not easy for him to believe, but my heart was growing faint. My feet were aching in these heels and when the waltz hit the crescendo, it was not the only note I heard that exceeded high off of the walls.

It was an elderly woman’s scream, shrill and high for her age.

Raoul and I, as well as the others of the masque, paused and halted in our stance.

My fears had come true. I had warned Raoul, thousands of times before arriving back to this place for the entertainment, that I would be found. He had ignored it and gently swept it off as a woman’s paranoia. But I had been right! For now, I saw the Angel of Music, or rather, the Angel of Death upon the staircase.

-

He was wearing bright and dark red colours, the colours befitting fresh and old blood. He wore a bulbous hat that had a large rim, and upon said rim, there was an enormous red feather. He had on a Machiavellian-designed costume, complete with fleeting sleeves with large and rounded poofs that were decorated with black beading. His cape was the longest, almost chapel-length. The mask he wore was black and also made of porcelain, with eyes as dark as the craft itself. I shuddered as we made eye contact. He merely gripped his elongated staff and laughed out loud, turning as the ruby skull shined.

As I feared, my ribbons came undone, and consequently, the mask fell off the bridge of my nose and cheekbones, falling to the floor, shattering. People gawked and stared as the sound caught their attention. Erik, on the other hand, stared across the way and became rather intent to speak.

“One and all, do not be alarmed, for I have written and brought you a new work of opera!”

_Erik, please, for my sake, do not continue any further. I do not want these people to hound you, but I do not want a panic aroused either; the police are stationed everywhere and they will open fire! Please, please, for my sake, stop._


End file.
